


Playing the Cards Right

by ivefoundmygoldfish (melonpanparade)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1764625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonpanparade/pseuds/ivefoundmygoldfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade is overloaded with work, Mycroft is insufferable during Lestrade's absence, and Sherlock complains to Lestrade about Mycroft's behaviour. It's a vicious cycle, and Sherlock doesn't expect to be traumatised in the process.</p>
<p>
  <i>“Sherlock, what are you doing here?” </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“I told you,” Sherlock whined. “Do something about Mycroft. He rang me three times in the morning and dropped by for a very unpleasant chat yesterday.” </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing the Cards Right

“Lestrade, Mycroft is being _insufferable._ ”

“Bloody hell, Sherlock. Give a man some warning!” Lestrade would never get used to Sherlock bursting into his office with all the ferocity of a storm. Sighing, he walked around the front of his desk to gather the stray files that had fallen off the edge in his shock.

Sherlock ignored him and started pacing urgently.

"I demand that you replace the stick up my brother’s arse with your prick."

Lestrade choked and promptly dropped the papers again. That was another thing he’d never get used to, and hoped he never would—Sherlock telling him to do the nasty with the elder Holmes when it worked in his favour. And each time, he got more and more creative. If there was one thing being around Sherlock Holmes had taught him, it was not to underestimate Sherlock’s lack of propriety.

“Have you ever thought about closing the door so that the whole office doesn’t hear about my private life?” Lestrade hissed.

“Oddly enough, no. I’m surprised they are not aware of it already; new watch, new cologne, lunch dates—how could they not know? Oh, that’s right, incompetent idiots.” Sherlock sat down in the leather office chair and started rifling through the papers scattered in front of him. “Boring, boring, it was the ex, obviously, dull, boring, ugh.”

“Sherlock, what are you doing here?”

“I told you,” Sherlock whined. “Do something about Mycroft. He rang me three times in the morning and dropped by for a very unpleasant chat yesterday.”

“Sherlock.” Lestrade rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. It didn’t seem like the conversation was going to end any time soon, so he made himself as comfortable as he could in the chair closest to the door. “You _know_ I’ve been stuck on the Arkwright case and it’s not like Mycroft has a regular work schedule either. I’d like to go home at a normal hour too, but I can’t because _someone_ refused to help and I’ve been so tied up with things.”

There were dark circles under the DI’s eyes, but his eyes brightened and a mischievous smile settled on his face as an idea started forming in his mind. Perhaps if he played his cards right…

“Although I’m sure Mycroft would enjoy it more if I were tied up in other ways that benefit him…”  

“Disgusting! I do not need to know about Mycroft’s... preferences.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but if I recall correctly, it was His Nibs who barged into my office and demanded rather rudely that I do something of the same calibre.”

“Because he is _impossible_ when he hasn’t seen you for a while,” Sherlock huffed.

“It really has been a while,” Lestrade hummed, pretending to be deep in thought. “When he saw me after the last time our schedules conflicted for this long, he pushed me against the—”

“Enough! What do I have to do?” Sherlock groaned.

“You could help out with the Arkwright case.”

“But it’s so… dull.”

“He pushed me against his office wall with surprising force, and without any regard for—“

“Alright, I’ll help! Just, just stop talking about _that_.”

Sherlock shuddered visibly and Lestrade reined in his desire to do a victory yell or dance. Instead, he walked around his desk and pulled out a dossier from the top drawer and thrust it into Sherlock’s hands.

“Read through this and look at the photos. There’s something fishy about Mrs Merrifield—she’s the accountant—but there’s no concrete evidence that she’s our murderer.”

“Fine. But this had better get Mycroft off my back.”

“Oh yes, I’ll be sure to get Mycroft on _his_ ba—”

Sherlock slammed the door.

“Rude. Didn’t even let me finish,” Lestrade laughed and watched Sherlock’s retreating figure. Everything about the younger Holmes was dramatic; the way he made his entrance and exit, and even the flare of his coat as he stomped away.

Well, now that that was sorted, he had one more thing left to do.

The call connected on the first ring.

“Mycroft?”

“Gregory?”

It was amazing how the sound of Mycroft saying his name could make weeks’ worth of tension begin to disappear. He missed Mycroft so much. And if the quiver in Mycroft’s voice was any indication, the feeling was mutual.

“I’ll be home early tonight.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Me too.”

He might not be as clever as the world’s only consulting detective, but after successfully bargaining guaranteed help from Sherlock and, consequently, a night at last in Mycroft’s arms, he certainly thought he was clever in his own right. And perhaps if he played his cards right again, Mycroft would find such cleverness deserving of a reward.


End file.
